


The Will of the Gods

by DoctorSnow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bodyswap, Gen, Pre-A Game of Thrones, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry, Stark Siblings - Freeform, Stark Sisters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 06:44:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4615239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorSnow/pseuds/DoctorSnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a rare Freaky Friday moment, Sansa and Arya switch bodies. As a result, they are forced to adapt to the other's life and in the bargain, get along with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The classic bodyswap! Hope you like it.

She closed her eyes as Jeyne tied the cloth around her head.

“Count to ten. And remember, no peeking.” She said, as she tightened the knot and spun her around a couple times.

Apart from her voice, the sounds of the godswood were all that she could hear as she counted. The rustling of the leaves, the chirping of the birds, the gurgling of the hot springs and the giggling of her dear friends Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel. _Good sounds_. She wondered how long these moments would last, with winter looming in the distance. In winter, all she would be allowed to do was huddle up in the warmth of the castle. If she stepped out, she would be prone to frostbite and what not. She would savor these moments for as long as they lasted. 

“Ten!” she shouted. “All right! I’m ready! First clap!”

A clap resounded to her left. She walked softly, leaves crunching under her feet. She heard Jeyne giggle. She walked towards her, careful not to stumble. The dressing gown she wore today had been stitched by her own self. Two months of hard work had gone into this. She would not soil it today. She had yet to wear it when Cley Cerwyn came.

“Second clap!”

The clap came from behind her. She turned, striding towards the sound, hands outstretched.

“I’m coming, Beth!”

“Sansa, no!” She heard Beth call from behind her.

It was too late. She tried to withdraw her foot as it touched water, but her quickened pace caused her to stumble, falling on her face into the black pool. She floundered, grasping for purchase. There was nothing she could hold on to. She never had learnt to swim. The heavy embroidery of her dress threatened to drag her deeper down. She reached for the cloth tied around her eyes, wrenching it free. It made no matter. There was nothing she could see. That was probably why they called it the black pool. Water entered through her nose and mouth. She could feel the water filling her lungs as she tried to cry for help. She started to feel light-headed as she strayed out of consciousness. She stopped struggling as she reached the bottom. At least the water was warm.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa felt her chest being squeezed as she spat the water out.

“Thank the gods, Sansa! You swallowed almost half the black pool.” Beth sat by her head, relief clear on her face. With Beth’s help, she sat up, leaning on the heart tree.

“It was all because of this little git!” Jeyne snarled, staring daggers at Arya’s wet, dripping figure. _Arya? Where did she come from?_

Arya’s face was tear-stricken. “I’m sorry, Sansa. I didn’t mean for you to fall in the pool. I just wanted to play with you.”

She got up, shivering. “See, now you know why we don’t want you playing with us.”

Sansa looked down at herself. She was dressed in nothing but her smallclothes. “Jeyne, where’s my gown?”

Jeyne held out a dripping blue bundle to her. _Seven hells_. This would take days to dry. She held it up and smoothed it out, looking for damage. She just hoped all the embroidery was intact. She had labored day and night at this. The color had already started to fade. That could be fixed, no doubt. At least it wasn’t torn….

“WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?” she yelled at Arya. “Why do you have to ruin everything nice there is?” There was a gaping hole in the back of her dress. It had probably got caught in some shrubs when she fell. This couldn’t be fixed. Even if she stitched it back, it would never look the same.

Arya took a step back in fear, her tiny frame poised to flee.

“Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to fix this.” She said, throwing her mangled dress at her.

“But I’m terrible at sewing.” She said, like that would make things better.

She slapped her, hard. “Then learn to sew, horseface!” She presumed that a moist hand might hurt more. She was right. Arya glared at her, nervously biting her lip, tears rolling down her face. Dropping the dress on the floor of the godswood, she stamped on it and rolled it over in the mud.

“Arya, stop doing that!”

She looked up at her defiantly. “I said I was sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen. But you shouldn’t have hit me.”

She then picked up a handful of mud and threw it at her face, smiling nastily as Sansa sputtered, spitting the dirt out of her mouth. She then turned on her heel and ran back to the castle.

“Oh, gods! Sansa, are you all right?” Jeyne said, dusting the mud off of her. “That little mutt ruins everything! The gall of her, throwing mud – “

“Shut up about it. Let’s just go back. This day is ruined.”

Her hand stung. Picking up the dress, she started walking back to the castle, Jeyne and Beth in tow.

 

* * *

 

 

The both of them were in for it that night.

“Sansa, apologize to your sister.” Lord Stark said, with a stern expression on his face.

“It wasn’t my fault! She ruined my dress. And I almost drowned!”

“Stop talking nonsense, Sansa. The black pool is waist-deep. If you bothered to move your feet around and stand upright, you would know. And Arya was the one to pull you out.”

She swallowed. She knew she was a terrible swimmer, but the black pool wasn’t something you could call deep. She knew this. She defiantly shook her head. “But she ruined my dress! I want some punishment!”

“Quiet, Sansa!” Her father grew irritated. “I am tired of you two bickering. Your sister did not mean for your dress to get ruined. That does not give you reason to strike her. Gods be good, we’ve never struck you both once in your lives. What makes you think _you_ have the right to strike your little sister?”

She was stubborn. “But she stamped on my dress. And she soiled it in the mud! And then she threw mud at me!”

“That was after you slapped her, which was ill-done. Now apologize to her.”

“I will not!”

“Sansa – “

Arya spoke up. “It wasn’t her fault, Father. I shouldn’t have interfered in their game.” She turned to Sansa, her grey eyes meeting Sansa’s blue eyes. “Sweet sister, please accept my apology. I acted rashly. You are right to be angry.”

She stared at her in disbelief. She hadn’t expected her to give in so quickly. All the same, she felt a sense of victory. “And what about my dress?”

Arya chewed her lip. There were red streaks where she had slapped her. “I could sew a new one for you.”

“You’ll sew me a new one. Right. How are you going to do that? You sew terribly. And you have the hands of a blacksmith.”

Arya was clearly hurt by that.

“Well, it’s the thought that counts.” Father said wearily, though she thought she saw a hint of a smile upon his face. “Go on. Go back to your chambers.”

 

* * *

 

 

She lay on her bed under the canopy, sobbing softly into her pillow.

Why did Sansa have to be so mean to her all the time? She just wanted to play with her. That was what sisters did, right? Why did she then prefer the company of that obnoxious Jeyne Poole to her? Granted, Arya wasn’t any good at sewing or dressing up, but they could surely find something to do together. Or was it that Sansa didn’t want anything to do with her? If that was the case, then she was just wasting her time. _Why should I go running behind her if she doesn’t even care?_ She could keep her stupid dresses and needles for all she cared.

They loved playing together when they were younger. But they hadn't played in years. That was probably because it pleased her dear sister more to spend time with Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel than it did with her own sister. She would generally stay away from her group. Their endless conversations about boys and dresses irritated her to the core. But today, she found herself feeling exceptionally bored. She now regretted having sought them out. She called her horseface. Sansa had never done that before. Jeyne's influence was probably rubbing off on her. Truth be told, Sansa had become somewhat insufferable of late. Perhaps she always was. She had just realized the truth of it now.

She often found herself with a serious lack of things to do. The things she was supposed to do, like sewing, didn’t interest her. She often shirked such activities. The things she wanted to do, like training with bow and sword, she wasn’t allowed to do. She had never mastered her courtesies and manners like her sister did. When the day came for her to marry, would her new family even care though? All they would care about was the Stark name. As long as she was a Stark, it wouldn’t matter whether her hair was neatly brushed and combed or in mats and tangles. It wouldn’t matter if she could perform a curtsy or say her graces like a pretty little lady. Or would it? No, that would be too much to ask for. Would she be given a say in the matter, though? Would her parents allow her to walk away from marriage if she wished to? She doubted it.

As she slept that night, images flashed in her mind. The godswood. The weirwood at the center of it all. The black pool. She felt she could hear Sansa’s voice in her head. But this wasn’t Sansa talking to her. It sounded like Sansa was talking to herself. She was among the things Sansa spoke of. It hurt her to think that she could imagine Sansa saying such horrid things about her. She must think Sansa truly hated her. She probably did, too.

The next morning, she woke up in Sansa’s chambers.


	2. Chapter 2

“No, no, NO!”

She paced the room, trying to make sense of what had happened here. Perhaps this was just a bad dream. If she went back to sleep, she would wake up back in her room, in her own body. Maybe she was hallucinating. Maester Luwin said that often happened when people had a fever, or when they went through severe trauma. They imagined things, completely bizarre things which seemed so real, you couldn’t tell which were real or fake. She didn’t have a fever, as far as she knew. She hadn’t suffered any recent trauma either. Well, apart from the drowning incident. She felt more and more embarrassed now that she thought of it. She paused for a moment to look at herself in the mirror. All she saw was her sister. Her short, skinny, dark-haired, horse-faced sister.

“No, this can’t be right.”

She pinched herself. It stung, but not as much if Arya would have bothered to grow her nails. She shut her eyes, waiting for something to happen. _Once I open my eyes, I will be back in my room, looking at myself_. She waited. Nothing happened. Arya’s grey eyes stared back at her, copying her every move. She was tired of trying the same thing.

The door creaked behind her. She turned sharply. What she saw shocked her.

It was her – well, her body. Her auburn hair was disheveled, her blue eyes staring down at her.

“Sansa?”

She jumped at her.

“Give me my body back, you little brute!” she screamed, taking her down with her, hitting her for what it was worth. “What did you do? Did you ask a woods witch to cast a spell on me? Couldn’t handle being the ugly one, could you?” She plummeted her, acting nothing like the lady she was normally supposed to be. But this wasn’t a normal situation.

Angrily, Arya pushed her away. She got up, dusting herself.

“Look.” She said, screwing her face up in a way which made her look ugly. “I don’t know how this happened. All I know is, I don’t want to be in your body any more than you want to be in mine. But this is the way it is. So unless we figure out how to make this right, we have to play along.”

“Play along? _Play along?_ Is this a game to you?” she said, seething. “I want my body back, RIGHT NOW!”

Arya gave her a scornful look before she made for the door. “Mother has called us down to break our fast. We mustn’t be late.”

She looked at her in alarm as she walked out. “Wait! You’re going like that?”

 

* * *

 

 

Father’s eyes were fixed on her as she walked into the Great Hall.

She sat down noiselessly and helped herself to porridge.

“So have you two made your peace then?” he asked, looking at what he thought was Sansa.

“Yes, Father.” Arya spoke, looking down at her meal, her ears turning red.

“That what took you so long, Arya? I heard screaming coming from your room. I trust you both resolved matters amicably?” he looked concerned.

“We did, Father.” she said, giving him her most convincing smile. “Actually, after our meal, we’re going to the godswood to play.”

Arya looked at her suspiciously. She kicked her under the table before she could say another word.

“Ow! What was that?” Robb woke up from his slumber, looking around with bloodshot eyes. He probably hadn’t slept well. She wondered why that was. He might have fancied a nocturnal visit to the brothel. But that seemed like something Theon Greyjoy would do, not the future lord of Winterfell.

 

After they finished, she took Arya’s hand and pulled her out of the hall.

“You saw it too, didn’t you?” she asked Sansa. “The black pool. While you were sleeping.”

She nodded wordlessly. They ran into the godswood.

She desparately tried to keep up with Arya. Her short legs could only take her this fast. By the time she reached the heart tree, Arya was already down to her smallclothes.

“Wait. What are you doing?”

“Everyone says the black pool has magic of the old gods. That was probably what caused us to switch bodies. When I jumped in to pull you out, something must have happened then. If we go in together, we might get switched back.”

“Arya, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

She stepped into the pool. “If you’ve got a better plan, I’m all ears.”

Sansa crossed her arms. “I think we should talk to someone about this. Father, or Mother, or Maester Luwin.”

She stared at her in disbelief. “You expect them to believe us? They’ll probably think it’s a fever dream or something. They’ll have us confined to our bedchambers all day. Are you coming or what?”

She sighed, loosening the knots on her dressing gown. There was simply no arguing with her.

She stepped into the water, shivering slightly. The water was warm, but the air surrounding them wasn’t. Gooseprickles covered her arms. She looked down at her calloused hands. _I’ll be back to my old self soon,_ she told herself as she submerged her head underwater along with Arya.

She wasn’t.

 

“Nothing’s happening.” She droned.

“Give it time.” Arya said, pulling on her gown clumsily, dirtying it in the process. “It took a whole night the first time around.”

“Hey, careful with how you handle that! Mother made that for me last year.”

Arya looked down at the lilac gown. “What, this drab thing?”

“Well, this drab thing is much nicer than any of the things you own.”

“But I guess it’s mine now.” Arya said, smirking. “You’d be sweeping the floors with this thing on you.”

She scowled. “No, it’s mine. It can’t be yours. You might be wearing it now, but it belongs to me. You can wear something plain later. Don’t you touch my good dresses.”

“Oh. So you don’t mind looking plain in front of Cley Cerwyn then, do you? And the whole of Winterfell?”

This was so unfair. “Fine.” She conceded grudgingly. “You can wear them. As long as you don’t soil them.”

“I can’t promise you anything.” she replied, plucking at leaves nonchalantly.

“Have you thought about our sewing lessons with Septa Mordane?” Sansa asked her, drying her matted hair on the hem of her gown.

“What about them?”

“How are you going to sew? You’re terrible at it.”

“So? It’ll be Sansa getting shouted at.” She stuck her tongue out at her in a grotesque manner.

That annoyed Sansa. “Stop it! You’re making my face look bad.”

Arya laughed. “Race you to the gates!”

She took off, leaving her in the dust.


	3. Chapter 3

She sat sullenly by the yard, looking idly at the boys practice as Jeyne walked over to her. Her hair was a mess and her gown was dirty, which was an odd sight.

“Sansa?”

She looked up at her, her eyes resting on her for a moment before they drifted back to the action in the yard.

“Are you all right? You don’t look too well.” she said, sitting down next to her.

Sansa chewed her lip. “I’m fine. What do you want?”

Jeyne was mildly surprised. “Nothing, I just came over to take you to sewing lessons. Septa Mordane’s asking after you.”

“I don’t want to sew today.” She said, fiddling with the lapels of her gown.

“Why not? You love to sew.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

Jeyne touched her brow. It wasn’t a fever, as far as she could tell. She was probably just upset. “Your sister’s sewing rather well today.”

“Good for her.”

“No, I mean, really well. Almost as well as you do. Everyone was shocked, the Septa most of all.”

“All right, Jeyne. I get it. She’s sewing really well.” She said, annoyed.

“She looks different. It’s like she actually bothered to brush her hair.”

That caused her to chuckle. “Leave it to Sansa.”

“What do you mean?”

She looked up. “What do I mean by what?”

Jeyne hesitated. Something was definitely wrong. Sansa might not tell her about it now but she would soon enough. “Cley Cerwyn will be coming in a few days.”

“Hmm.” was all Sansa could manage as she picked up a stick and started drawing random figures in the sand.

“Hmm? Thai’s it? I thought you would be more excited than that. You’ve been waiting for days since you heard the news. Honestly, Sansa, what has gotten into you today?”

Her ears perked up. “What news?”

Jeyne was flabbergasted. “You’re joking, aren’t you? The news of your betrothal, of course. Or the possibility of it, more like. I can’t wait to see who he brings in his retinue this time”

Sansa glared at her fiercely. “Is there something else you have to do, Jeyne? Because I could do without you buzzing in my ear, for a while at least. I don’t care about a bloody betrothal, so go find someone else to hound about it. How about my sister? Of course, both of you are perfect for each other. Or go find someone who can actually tolerate your incessant babble. You’ll probably have to look outside Winterfell for that, though.”

Jeyne recoiled in shock. Sansa never spoke to her so rudely. They were the best of friends, after all. She felt tears welling up in her eyes. Before Sansa could chide her about that as well, she wordlessly got up and walked back inside.

 

* * *

 

She made for the stables. She had pleaded Theon to train her in the bow, days ago. Now that she was finally getting good at it, this had to happen. It wasn’t like she could go and ask him to train her now. He'd probably burst out laughing. But the current turn of events did not prohibit her from riding. That might help her clear her head. She brushed aside the mop of hair sticking on her damp forehead. The gods alone knew how Sansa dealt with her hair.

Picking up a saddle, Arya went to her ginger horse. Sansa was probably away with the Septa, relishing all the attention she got. It might have been fun to just see herself behave like a nice little girl, neatly dressed and doing her stitches. Tightening the straps on the saddle, she led the horse out of the stables.

“Where are you riding off to?”

Jon strode towards her.

“Just – around the yard.” She called back, waving at him.

“Aren't you supposed to be learning your stitches?”

“I can take a day off every now and then.” She said, grinning as she made to climb the horse.

“You need a hand with that? Might ruin your dress.”

She made a face, climbing on the horse. “It’s already ruined.”

She didn’t know the kind of relationship Sansa shared with Jon. They certainly weren’t close, of that she was sure. Sansa still referred to him as a bastard, much to her chagrin. Anyways, for the sake of normalcy, she couldn’t be herself, with him or with anyone else. It would raise too many eyebrows, like it did with Jeyne. She would have to pretend to be like her prissy sister if she was going to occupy her body.

“Be careful!” he called behind her as she rode ahead.

 

* * *

 

He would never have expected the sight that greeted him.

Arya walked into the Great Hall for supper, in a clean gown, with her face glowing and her hair scrubbed and brushed clean. She moved gracefully, with all the poise of her older sister. This was the second shock he received today. The first shock was watching Sansa ride all by herself, and really well at that. She saddled the horse on her own and even refused help while climbing the horse. The few words they shared in the stables were also surprising. Sansa rarely made conversation with him. She had taken on her mother in those respects. She walked in soon after, wearing a simple dressing gown. Her hair was still in disarray, though it was better than before. Seeing Sansa this afternoon, with her disheveled hair and dirty dress, made him wonder about the absurdity of it all. He would have to talk to Arya about this. They hadn’t spoken all day. That was also surprising.


End file.
